


Then There's Rain Showers

by AmarieMelody



Series: The WinterFalcon Marriage Chronicles [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bottom!Sam, Domestic Avengers, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Married Couple, Mention of Therapy, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Sam Wilson Drawing Challenge, SamBucky married fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmarieMelody/pseuds/AmarieMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam and Bucky are married and have a certain code language. </p><p>Humor, fluff, more humor, and gratuitous smut at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then There's Rain Showers

**Author's Note:**

> I was _greatly_ inspired by the press tours featuring [Anthony Mackie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFXfXjg1KYk) [and Sebastian Stan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CoJkHY6idik). And though I can't stand the movie Civil War as a whole, I think Anthony and Sebastian's mutual love, respect, affection, and general enjoyment of each other's company is translated _wonderfully_ [on the](http://thunderhunk.tumblr.com/post/144179852077/fatcr0w-petermaximoff-i-keep-seeing-people) [screen](http://thunderhunk.tumblr.com/post/144002621767/drfitz-bucky-sam); their parts together were some of my favorites! I mean, they are just gems apart, and they're gems together, are they not? Teehee! 
> 
> Also, as always, a **ton** of thanks to [SilverAdept](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silveradept) for helping me get the context of this piece down! You're always the best, Silver! :D :D 
> 
> I had a blast writing this; it was a labor of love. I hope that it makes you smile, laugh, and smile some more. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

“Hey. Hey, you. Hey, husband”, Sam calls out. 

Bucky rolls his eyes up from alternating between watching the omelets and reading his tablet. He squints his eyes at Sam. “I’ve never seen you before in my life, but what d’you want?” 

Sam swirls his nice, tall glass of orange juice. “‘M afraid it’s gonna be cloudy for today and most likely tomorrow. No rain showers for the moment.” 

“Aww, damn”, Bucky sighs. He flips the four omelets on the griddle in short succession. “And here I was lookin’ forward to it. Even remembered my umbrella…” 

“I know, man. I thought I’d need my umbrella, too”, Sam says. 

Steve and Natasha sit at the counter island on either side of Sam while Bucky cooks all of them breakfast on the other end. They glance out the window at the same time and see that…there’s not one single cloud in the bright blue morning sky. 

Let alone any kind of chance of a rain shower. 

Sam and Bucky have been married for going on a full year by now and _still_ Steve and Natasha can’t figure out just what in the _fuck_ the two of them are talking about when they talk about…fucking precipitation. Steve’s last guess was grocery store trips; Natasha’s last guess was laundry days. 

They both look away from the kitchen window and stare at each other over Sam’s head. Natasha purses her lips and Steve just gives the smallest shake of his head. Steve goes back to nursing his apple juice and Natasha stares into the black, barely-sugared depths of her coffee. 

Bucky checks on the bacon and asks, “But, say, will they at least be fluffy clouds when they do come? Y’know, just a little bit?” 

“I dunno…could be fluffy. Could be.” 

“Well, if that happens, will they be _just_ fluffy or…fluff-fluffy?” 

“Hrm…fluff-fluff-fluffy…fluff. Yeah. That work for you, Barnes?” 

“I do believe it does work for me, Wilson.” 

Breakfast is soon done. Bucky serves Sam’s plate first. It’s omelets; bacon; toast; and a huge fruit salad complete with extra plums. 

As they all eat, Bucky agrees, “Uh huh. Extra fluffy fluff is pretty good. Yeah, I like that, Wilson.” 

Sam smiles around a bite of bacon. He winks at his husband. “Thought you would.” 

Steve and Natasha want to scream. 

-

Sam and Bucky are married. 

And busy. 

Constantly, tirelessly busy. 

They’re both full-time Avengers and that job brings the occasional alien invasion or leftover HYDRA terrorist plot. There are more times than they care to count where they’ve come home covered in soot; debris; alien slug (or blood?); ocean salt water; and sometimes, somehow, a combination of all of the above and more. 

Sam and Bucky live in a house together just outside of Queens; that borough is just about right for Sam to be near Harlem and for Bucky to be near Brooklyn. It’s far enough away for the memories to not be so raw and close enough so that they can readily open those memories again when they’re good and ready. 

Bucky bought the house as a surprise wedding present to Sam not one week after Sam enthusiastically accepted his proposal with a wide smile and teary eyes. He searched far and wide (well, it was the divine power known as Google, but he was scrolling and clicking around for fucking _hours_ ) in New York for a house worthy to gift to Sam. And when he finally chose the very best one he could find, he bought it as quickly as he could. It didn’t cost him really anything close to a pretty penny; he paid for it using his extensive military back pay that stretches all the way back to the 1940s. 

So see, when he broke the news of the bought house to Sam, he already suffered from the worst leftover frazzled nerves after proposing to him. Fuck, they’ll be celebrating their fiftieth anniversary before they can blink, and Bucky will _still_ be flabbergasted that Sam ever agreed to marry and stay with him. And so he announced their new house as unceremoniously as possible. 

He did it while they were cuddling in the bed, watching a marathon of Doc McStuffins with the lights cut off and the curtains drawn. 

There was a rain shower outside.

But they were cozied and snuggled up safe and warm with each other. 

“Hey. Hey, you. Hey, fiancé”, he whispered. 

“Mrmph?” Sam sleepily slurred. 

“I, uhh…” Bucky paused to swallow. Twice. “I got you something. As a wedding present. Because w-we’re gonna have a wedding. ‘Cause, y’know, we’re getting married. And ‘M the one that proposed to _you_. So I got you a wedding present. Yeah.” 

Sam went very, very still against him, and then sat up to look at him. He destroyed Bucky by giving him that warm, slow smile for when he wants to comfort and reassure him. 

“Aw, really, babe? Thanks! Thanks a whole bunch!” Sam said, voice brimming with pleasure and sincerity. 

Bucky swallowed again and nodded. He thought he smiled back at his fiancé. He really, really did. “Yeah.” 

With that, Bucky leaned away from Sam to turn on the lamplight and then to reach the nightstand’s bottom drawer. He pulled out the starchy white folder holding the deed to their new house. The folder had a huge, gaudy red bow that Bucky successfully wrapped around it after exactly eight tries. Bucky even had the motherfucking deed laminated for his Sam. 

_Laminated._

But when Bucky handed the folder to Sam, Sam just held it in his hands like it was a viper about to bite him. His eyes slowly rolled up to meet the other man’s and they were unamused. 

“…Hell kinda wedding present is this, Barnes?”

Bucky shifted awkwardly under the covers, his metal hand clutching at the coverlet. “It’s, uhh…it’s the kind I hoped you’d like…” 

Sam’s voice went drier than sandpaper. “I don’t even know what it is.” 

“That’s because you haven’t _opened it_ yet, Wilson.” 

“I don’t wanna open it, now.” 

“Why?” 

“‘Cause it’s a piece of paper in a folder.” 

“Well, the piece of paper is what your present is and I promise you that you’ll like it.” 

“Yeah, you ‘promise’ me? How ‘bout that time you promised me you wouldn’t drink the last of my orange juice, hmm?” 

“Look, Wilson-”

“Do you remember what happened to that promise? _I_ remember what happened to that promise-”

“Oh my fucking _god_ -”

“And I know you’re a goddamned super soldier and you gotta have an appetite to go with your metabolism. Fine. But when I mentioned the last of the orange juice, there was about three-quarters left in that damn bottle and-”

“I replaced the fucking thing for you the very next day-!”

“But the _point_ is that you callously left me without precious O.J for the rest of the evening-”

“I cannot believe this shit-”

“And so, no. No, I do not trust your ‘promises’, Barnes.” 

They spent the next several seconds just having a stare-off. It was a stare-off the likes of which they hadn’t engaged in since, well…since Bucky had indeed broken his promise to Sam not to drink the rest of his orange juice. 

Bucky was the one to break it. 

“What the hell d’you think is in that folder, then?” 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “…The prenup.” 

Another stare-off. 

This time it lasted for about two minutes. 

Bucky slowly blinked at his fiancé. “...Are you fucking kidding me, Wilson?” 

“Do I look like I am?” 

“…Open the damn folder.” 

“Is it a prenup?” 

“No. Far from it.” 

“Is it a grocery list?” 

“No. Far from that, too.” 

“Is it a- 

“It is something that I want you to open because it is a _present_ for you.” 

Third stare-off. 

And that time, it couldn’t even begin to compare to the orange juice one. 

Sam finally gave in with a sigh and went about gently undoing the red bow. When he opened the folder, he read the laminated paper...and re-read it. And re-read it. 

Brand new tears sprang to Sam’s eyes and they reminded Bucky so much of when he proposed to him that his nerves were frazzled all over again. In the next second, Sam threw his arms around Bucky’s neck and held on tight. Bucky immediately held him back with a bit more gentleness, careful of his strength. 

Sam pulled away and stared at his fiancé with watery eyes. “Y-you bought me a _house_? A fucking _house_? As a wedding present?” 

Bucky thinks that he made some gesture resembling shrugging and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, y’know. I just…wanted it to be something special.” 

“But it’s a house, Bucky! A freakin’ house! D’you know how much houses cost?!” Sam tearfully exclaimed. 

“Hey, look. Don’ worry about it.” Bucky brought his hands up to gently rub Sam’s upper arms. “I bought it with my military back pay and so it’s alright! Besides, it’s just a little bit on the rundown side and so I thought, y’know…we could have fun renovating it together.” 

Sam’s left eye twitched. “What, are you gonna make a habit of this, Barnes? ‘Cause I appreciate it, but thought I’d get a husband out of this, not a sugar daddy from 1945!” 

Bucky pouted, deeply offended. “Well, I was gonna buy you a fucking _steering wheel_ for a wedding present, but I thought that’d bring back things that we’d both rather forget, so-”

“You are such a _sweetheart_ and I hate you _so much_ ”, Sam sobbed. 

“Mutual, Wilson. Mutual.” 

Sam wiped at his eyes. He tearfully continued, “And yeah, I’m still mad ‘bout that! Who d’you think you are, taking a steering wheel?! You ain’t Jesus!”

“Well, _shit_ , and here I thought I was!” 

They laughed and hugged again. 

Their house is a quaint, quietly spacious four-bedroom, three-bathroom. It sports bay windows, a nice cozy den, a wraparound porch, and a long, rectangular kitchen just waiting for the scents of delicious cooking to fill it. 

And Sam and Bucky are busy. 

They renovate and decorate their house bit by bit, piece by piece. Bucky lays down impossibly soft, brand new carpet in the den; Sam paints the kitchen in bright, refreshing shades of sky blue and yellow. They can spend hours upon hours online or at the furniture store just having fun mutually choosing couches and futons. 

In-between their house renovations, they also have their individual therapy sessions to attend. Their therapies often involve homework, such as filling in cognitive behavioral worksheets and memory association exercises. Bucky’s are more extensive and sometimes he’ll come home, fall into bed, and not come out for a long, long time. Sam’s are shorter, but he has them at least four days a week; it’ll be quite often that he’ll come back home afterwards and just be quiet in contemplation. 

But their therapies are working for them. Every day, they feel just a little bit better, just a little bit more accomplished towards achieving better health and recovery. 

Meanwhile, there are about fifty million other daily things that pile up. They may have leftovers ready in the fridge, but the laundry is piling up; and when they’re finally free from the very last load of laundry, the fridge is a cold graveyard of ancient takeout containers and that old greenish thing in the container stuffed far, far behind the expired milk. 

And so it’s not uncommon that Bucky will be precariously balancing the laundry basket on his hip on the way to their laundry room (which is adjacent to their kitchen). He’ll pass by Sam, who will be at their counter island fixing homemade steak and pasta. 

Their lives in general are busy, and their married lives are especially busy. 

But married life is good to them. 

-

And so there are times-many times-when there are no rain showers for Sam and Bucky. 

Because it takes a good, long while to get to the rain showers. 

-

At first, it’s just the gathering of clouds making broken promises to release water. 

Fluff-fluff-fluffy…fluff indeed. 

Large clouds, fluffy clouds that gather. 

Fluffy, fluffy clouds full of fluff. 

It’s the fluff of when they’re sitting next to each other during Avengers briefings and they share little glances between them. Little grins. Little winks. Below the table, they’ll link their pinkie fingers together; Sam’s flesh-and-blood pinkie loops around Bucky’s metal pinkie and doesn’t let go. Bucky grips Sam’s pinkie back in a grasp that’s as tender and gentle as anything. 

It’s the fluff of when they pass each other in the hallway and can only share a quick, sweet peck of the lips. Or a quick, sweet squeeze of a hand. A quick, sweet squeeze of an ass. 

Just sweet, gentle fluff. 

No rain showers yet. 

Just large, fluffy clouds that gather. 

-

The clouds can get even fluffier and fluffier. 

And it’s especially during those times where Sam wonders why the hell he was ever surprised by how much Bucky loves touch. 

Bucky deeply craves and desires touch. 

Warm, nurturing _touch_. 

For seventy years, the man had been tortured, brainwashed, forced to do heinous, unthinkable things, and then tortured all over again. If someone was going to touch Bucky during his time with HYDRA, Bucky could only count on a hell of a lot of pain and coldness to follow it. 

So of course Bucky loves to touch and be touched. 

Sam first found this out several months ago right before Bucky proposed to him. They were cuddling together on Sam’s couch, idly switching between paying attention to How It’s Made and just feeling and listening to the other breathe. Sam was lying on his back with his head comfortably pillowed and on foot propped up on the couch arm. One of his arms was curled above his head, while the other was stroking Bucky’s hair, nails gently scrapping at his scalp. Bucky was resting his head on his chest, his head snuggled right over Sam’s heart. His metal arm was slung over Sam’s waist; the fingers were splayed out over Sam’s side as though Bucky couldn’t get enough of the feeling of Sam breathing and he didn’t want Sam to ever go away. 

It was barely a thought for Sam before he lowered the arm curled above his head and started stroking Bucky’s metal arm. The metal felt as it always feels every time Sam touches it: impossibly, thrillingly warm and thrumming with _life_. His hand caressed up and down the strong, interlocking plates as though they were fine piano keys.

Sam felt Bucky’s deep, deep sigh against his body. 

Bucky gently squeezed him closer. His voice was quiet and rough. “…You know I can feel that, right?” 

Sam winced and snatched his hand away. “Oh, sorry! Was that uncomfortable? I-”

“No, no, no!” Bucky assures him. He lifts his head from Sam’s chest and smiles sleepily at him. “That feels good. Real, real good, y’know? So if you don’t mind…please don’t stop?” 

“Oh.” Sam blinks, and then grins. “Sure can do, Buck. Lay back down.” 

Bucky smiled even wider, laid back down on Sam’s chest, and Sam resumed stroking his metal arm. They fell asleep that way. 

That was far from the last time they cuddled, far from the last time Bucky reached out to Sam. Bucky revels in sloppy morning hugs and kisses and languid evening hugs and kisses. Just about every time they pass by each other, Bucky can’t resist rubbing Sam’s back, grabbing Sam’s ass, tickling Sam’s side, and/or a combination of all three. In bed and on the couch, he’s every bit an octopus with his arms wrapped around and his legs entangled with the other man’s. When he hugs his husband, he takes him in with everything he’s got and everything he is; with warmth and genuineness and strength and closeness. 

And Sam loves it right back. 

Sam always welcomes him with wide open arms and wide open smiles. He loves to hold Bucky close to know-to _feel_ -that Bucky is safe and sound with him in their new home together. He feels Bucky breathe, sees Bucky smile, hears Bucky laugh and his heart swells with more and more happiness each and every day. Bucky is real and comforted and healing and growing right alongside him every day. The visceral knowledge of Bucky’s increasing well-being soothes quite a bit of Sam’s nightmares far, far away. 

-

Still, the clouds become even fluffier. 

And Bucky, in turn, wonders why the hell he was surprised by how much Sam doesn’t mind being cared for. 

How much Sam doesn’t mind feeling smaller. 

How much Sam doesn’t mind being able to _let go_. 

Bucky first found this out several months ago right after they moved into their new house as newlyweds. They were working hard on their wrap-around porch that day and Sam accidentally got a bit of splintered wood wedged into his leg. Bucky didn’t think as he dropped his tools, went over to Sam, scooped Sam up bridal style, and carried him all the way to the closest bathroom. He carefully set Sam on the sink counter and told him to try and see if he could comfortably get his pants off while he fished around for the first-aid kit. 

Sam managed to get his pants off and Bucky started gently tending to his leg in short order. There was barely any blood and it didn’t even look like it would scar, but Bucky wanted to make absolutely certain anyway. It wasn’t until Bucky was dabbing the hydrogen peroxide on the area with a cotton ball that he thought to look up to see Sam just…quietly looking at him. 

Bucky immediately retracted his hand from Sam’s leg. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? Was I too rough-?”

Sam shook his head. “No, the opposite, actually; I can barely feel you down there.” He tilted his head. “It’s just, uhh…y’know that you literally just carried me all the way back inside the house, right? And you didn’ even break a sweat…” 

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times in confusion. “Well…yeah. I don’t like you very much, but I don’t think I’d like you to walk on your leg when it’s hurting you and then you get hurt even more.” 

The smile that Sam gave Bucky…well, Bucky’s seen a whole lot of beautiful things in his nearly one-hundred years on this earth. But he’s sure that Sam’s blazing kilowatt smile took the number one spot now, forever, and always. Bucky was and still is almost always stunned into stillness and silence at the sight of it being directed at _him_. 

But Sam didn’t give him a break because he widened that smile and clarified, “Well, thanks, man. But I mean that, y’know, you just carried me like I don’t even weigh anything to you. I know you’re enhanced, but…damn. Do I weigh anything to you at all…?” 

“Uhh…well, uhh...” Bucky winced and decided to go with the truth. “No, not really. But I’d probably get a good workout if I bench pressed you for a couple reps. Probably. Is that…okay?” 

Sam surprised him with a giggle. A literal, honest-to-god _giggle_. 

“More than okay, actually. I…like that. I like you being able to pick me up and then some.” 

Bucky gave him a slow, slow smile in turn. “Great. And I like being able to pick you up, hon.” Bucky stopped to nervously clear his throat. “But I mean, y’know, only when, uhh… _you_ like to be…picked up. Yeah. I, uhh…” 

“Thanks. I got that.” 

“Cool. So…” Bucky held up the cotton ball. “Can I get back to patching you up now, hon? So we can get back to fixing up the porch?” 

Sam winked at him and, in doing so, destroyed Bucky’s world. “Yeah, sure. Thanks again.” 

“Ehh, don’t take it personally, Wilson”, Bucky said as he gently, carefully went back to dabbing. “‘M your husband; this is just part of my job description.” 

That was far from the last time Sam let Bucky pick him up. For Sam, there’s that _thrill_ when he comes face-to-face with how Bucky is full of raw, thinly-leashed super soldier power, just the same as Steve is. Yet Bucky has never gripped him too tightly, never cut off his oxygen during a hug, never so much as left a bruise on his hip during sex. The thrill pulses and races through Sam when Bucky will randomly, casually pick Sam up, set him on the counter, push himself between Sam’s legs, and then kiss whatever breath is left out of Sam. It rushes through him all over again when Bucky suddenly gathers him up in a hug, lifting him clear off his feet. 

Sam loves Bucky on top. 

Sam loves Bucky blanketing and surrounding him. 

And Bucky loves it right back. He loves to have the opportunity to be gentle and soothing and nurturing with another, unenhanced human being-especially when that unenhanced human being is a man he’s come to love and treasure with all his heart. 

Though his husband wished he wouldn’t think of it so often, Bucky stays hyperaware of what his hands-particularly his metal hand-have been forced to do. Intimidate. Maim. Murder. Over and over again until, to this day, he’ll stare at his perfectly clean hands and see blood. 

But now he can indulge in caring for his husband with his hands and it helps to make a good bit of the blood go away. His hands bake Sam his very own batch of snickerdoodles and he revels in how Sam’s face lights up when he surprises him with them as soon as Sam comes home from work. His hands massage the knots and tensions out of Sam’s neck, back, and shoulders and his heart was never warmer than when Sam drifts to sleep atop him, loose and comforted. 

\- 

Slowly, steadily, Sam and Bucky’s busy lives briefly slow down just a tad and so the fluffy fluff-fluff clouds give way to trickles. 

They mention as much to each other during a brunch outing with Steve and Natasha. Their best friends sit together on one side of the booth while Sam and Bucky sit together on the other side. 

“Shit, I am _so_ glad that we’re trickling right now, Barnes”, Sam sighs as he spears a piece of pancake. 

Bucky swallows his pancake down and grins. “Me, too, Wilson. Me, too. And, y’know, if we can find some extra time to put our calendars side-by-side, maybe we can work out even more time for trickles.” 

“That would be great. Wonderful. Perfect. For real”, Sam agrees. 

And out of Steve and Natasha, Natasha is the only one who smiles quietly over her glass of fruit punch as they talk and as Steve looks increasingly perplexed and agitated. 

“It’s gonna trickle so much that we just may have to pull out the umbrellas”, Bucky says. 

Sam leans over to soundly peck his husband on the nose. “And if we’re even luckier, we could be having to pull out _heavy duty_ umbrellas ‘cause it’ll be a downpour!” 

Bucky’s grin widens. “A straight up rain shower-”

“That is _it!_ ” Steve barks. He throws his fork down beside his plate and pays absolutely no mind to some of the other diners and a waitress glancing worriedly at him. “I have _had_ it!” 

Their whole table is stunned into silence. Steve’s three table mates’ wide eyes are glued to him. They’re frozen: Natasha’s mouth is paused mid-slurp on her straw; Sam’s fork is midway to his mouth; and Bucky’s napkin is midway to his chin. 

“There is not even as much as a goddamned _cloud_ in the goddamned _sky_!” Steve growls as he points to the bay window their booth is situated beside. Indeed, the early afternoon sky is a bright blue with the sun blazing and not a single cloud in sight. 

Steve continues with his voice low and irate. “Now, I love you two. You two are my best fucking friends, alongside this redhead matchmaker called Romanoff.” He points in turn to the three of them. “Buck, you’re the one I grew up with and we anchor each other to our past. Sam, you’re the one I thought I’d never find and you help anchor me here, in the present. And Nat, you’re about the same as Sam.” 

“And since you all mean so very, _very_ much to me, I would’ve thought that I mean so much to you, too”, Steve grouses. “So much so that you would tell me what the hell you’re talking about when you’re talking about…about potential precipitation when there _is_ none to be had!” 

The other three slowly unfreeze. Sam and Bucky share a fraught glance and Natasha puts a placating hand on Steve’s arm. 

Natasha starts, “Rogers, look-”

“No, _you_ look, Romanoff! All of you look! Just look at this 96-year-old man cleverly check the weather on his 21st-century phone and still get confused!” Steve yanks his phone out of his pocket and does just that. 

He holds the screen showing the forecast for a sunny day today and for the rest of the week, for that matter. He shoves it all in their faces in turn. Steve’s left eye twitches and what with the grip he has on his phone, he looks just about ready to crush it. 

“D’you _see_ anything about a trickle? About a rain shower? Anything about that at all?! D’you fucking _see?!_ Because I sure as hell don’t _see!_ ” 

Steve plants his phone showing the weather reports right smack in the middle of their table, right beside the butter and syrup packets. He sits back against the booth, grumbling and growling to himself as he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Natasha resumes sipping her fruit punch while rubbing at her forehead. Sam and Bucky share a long, long look. 

Sam looks back at Steve and is the one to break the silence. “Well, uhh…Steve? We all love you, too, but…we thought y’know…that you would’ve… _known_ by now what…Buck and I are talking about…” 

The other man blinks owlishly at him. “What?” 

Sam clears his throat and finds something fascinating in smearing his pancake around in the syrup. “Steve, man, w-we’re not really…talking about…precipitation…” 

When Steve only blinks owlishly at him again, Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. He lifts Sam’s hand to his mouth and plants a sound kiss atop it. 

“Y’know what, hon? Don’t even worry about this. Steve doesn’t get it ‘cause Steve was a stupid ass punk from 1930s Brooklyn and once a stupid ass punk? Always a stupid ass punk.” He smiles softly at Sam and kisses the back of his hand again. “So don’t bother yourself with it, babe. Don’t even.”

While Sam looks about to reply, Steve glares a hole or two or twenty in Bucky’s head. 

“Actually, Sam was this ‘stupid ass punk from 1930s Brooklyn’s’ best friend until someone came along, monopolized the hell out of him, and then married him”, Steve grouses, a petulant pout on his lips. “Don’t you forget that Sam was _my_ best friend before you stole him.” 

Bucky pouts right back. “Yeah, well, he’s _my_ husband now.” 

“But he’s always been _my_ best friend-”

“My husband.”

“Best friend.” 

“Husband, Rogers.” 

“Best friend, Barnes-”

Sam cuts both of them off. “Nat, could you…help us out here? At least help Steve just…not feel so…out of the loop? Even if he doesn’t get it ‘cause it _is_ kinda private? Which is why we don’t…say it…out loud?” It’s his turn to rub at his forehead and, may god help him, he swears that a migraine is starting to form. 

Natasha obliges him and leans forward to tap commands into Steve’s phone so it exits out of the weather app and back to his main wallpaper (a happy, goofy selfie of all four of them together during one of their rare, treasured movie nights). She turns on Steve with a smile that’s more teeth than lips. 

“Rogers. This doesn’t have anything to do with actual precipitation”, she starts in a sickly sweet voice. 

Steve’s left eye twitches again. “Then what the hell-”

Natasha leans closer to him and Sam watches as she stares right upside his blond head. “What do you _think_ they’re talking about, Steve? Two happily married people who don’t always have a lot of time on their hands to be together, hmm?” 

Steve slowly opens and closes his mouth as he stares at her. His gaze just as slowly drifts to the married couple sitting across from them. He then looks at Sam and Bucky in turn…back to Natasha…back to Sam and Bucky…and then out the window where, indeed, it is a sunny, cloudless day full of nothing but blue sky. 

Their whole table stays quiet as it starts as just teeny patches of light pink across Steve’s nose. It’s still quiet when those teeny patches of light pink spread into bigger patches of fuchsia spanning Steve’s cheekbones. Then those bigger patches of fuchsia balloon into a cherry red that covers the entirety of his face. And it spreads even more, still, into a blanket of a bright, bright tomato red that flushes all the way to his ears and down the rest of his neck. 

Sam’s migraine is really kicking and Bucky’s eyes roll back up to the ceiling as Steve’s eyes blow wide, wide open in his tomato-red face. Natasha sighs and pushes her fruit punch across the table to Sam, who gratefully picks it up and holds the cool glass to his forehead. Bucky rubs his husband’s back in warm, soothing circles. 

Steve splutters, “Well, I-I-I hope it’s g-good for you two-!” 

Sam sighs the heaviest he’s probably sighed in years and lolls his head back against the booth. His eyes implore the ceiling for salvation. “ _Whew_. Now there it is. There it goes. And here we are.” 

“Steve”, Natasha deadpans. “We are at a table. In a diner. We are-or were-trying to have a simple, peaceful brunch. Now look what you’ve done. ” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, offended. “And besides that, Rogers, what the hell d’you mean ‘you hope it’s good’ for us? What, you’re sayin’ I don’t know how to properly take care of my own husband in the home I bought for him?” 

“Buck, look, I didn’t-”

“Where do I come from?” 

“I never-”

“What is my _name_?” 

Steve is still flailing while Natasha replies, “…‘Cocky bastard that probably takes advantage of the fact that moves that worked in 1945 wouldn’t work with anyone else but Sam today’? That’s gotta be a long signature, Barnes.” 

Bucky raises his eyebrow even higher. “You know what, Romanoff…” 

Sam slowly closes his eyes-he doesn’t know if he’s counting or praying. Probably both. “…Lord, I haven’t been around this much peak white nonsense since…shit, I don’t even wanna remember right now.” 

Natasha helpfully supplies, “Sam, you haven’t been around this much white nonsense since Steve lapped you around the Mall back in DC.” 

“No”, Bucky disagrees. “You haven’t been around this much white nonsense since you got engaged to me.” 

Steve shakes his head. Some of his tomato color is finally receding. “Natasha may be close with how I lapped you. But I actually think it might be that time we all tried to cook you a surprise dinner for your birthday, but we got so excited that we…forgot the seasoning. On accident.” 

Natasha and Bucky glare indignantly at him. 

“Uh, no- _you_ forgot the damn seasoning while we were cooking, Rogers!” Bucky accuses. “And we told you to get the Mrs. Dash and meat tenderizer for Sam’s food before we even started!” 

“Then we had to argue about if we could marinate it with salt and pepper and you thought we couldn’t!” Natasha gripes. 

Steve shakes his head in irritation. “Well, I thought we could use a substitute other than those! It was better than nothing!” 

“But we ended up doing just exactly that- _nothing_ and it was all your fault, Rogers!” Bucky says. 

Sam opens his eyes not once the entire time his husband and two best friends are arguing. He mutters quietly, “See? Ain’t even ya’ll three can remember and agree the last time I had to deal with peak white nonsense...and it’s happening right now.” 

-

The trickles continue. 

Gentle trickles, merry trickles. Trickles that are just as much tender raindrops as they are tender dewdrops. 

Sam and Bucky indulge in the rare treat of taking a grocery shopping trip together. They prefer to go early in the morning on weekdays when the grocery store is the emptiest of other people; they feel that they can breathe, take their time, and stretch their legs more easily with all the space. Oh, they love to take their time. 

Though they still don their disguises-sunglasses, baseball cap, and a pair of gloves for Bucky-one of the cashiers, a kid with an adorable afro named Noel, recognizes and always waves happily to them when they come in. They wave right back to her with huge smiles. 

They take turns pushing the cart, reviewing the grocery list, and considering what goes in their cart. In the produce section, Sam picks out the cantaloupe and Bucky picks out the plums. Next is a batch of bananas. A batch of blueberries. After that, a batch of cilantro. A little container of grape tomatoes. Three large broccoli heads. 

It’s when they’re nice and completely alone in the aisle sporting sauces, spices, dressing, and the like that Sam starts it. 

Bucky bends down to better read a label on a jar of Alfredo sauce. Sam doesn’t hesitate to fit his hand into his husband’s back jean pocket and _squeeze_. 

Bucky barely blinks, much less looks away from the jar. “Huh. Not even on the cereal aisle yet, and the husband already went there.” He glances back at Sam with a smirk. “Is that a ripe fruit you’re findin’, hon’?” 

Sam gives Bucky’s luscious ass yet another squeeze. He pretends to think about it for a moment. “Hmmm…gimme a minute. Gotta feel my way ‘round first before I can make that call.” 

The other man finally straightens up and pouts. “Really? And here I thought you’d already made the call long before we ever got married!” 

“Yeah, well I’m allowed to be fickle every now and then!” Sam grins. 

Bucky snorts. “Oh, please. You haven’t felt an ass better than mine since the last time you felt your own.” 

“…Yeah, I guess I can’t argue with that.” 

“See? Told ya!” 

They laugh, put their chosen Alfredo sauces in the cart, and continue on with their shopping. And when they are actually in the cereal aisle, Bucky returns the favor in Sam’s jean pockets tenfold. 

-

There are still trickles when they get home to unpack their groceries. Sam and Bucky take their time just as much now as they did in the store. On one of the far counters near the fridge, Lady Ella’s sweet, breathy crooning sounds from their iPod dock. 

Sam and Bucky move with an ease and warmth around the kitchen. They grin and snicker at each other as they “accidentally” bump hips here, “accidentally” brush against each other’s shoulders there, and “accidentally” reach for the same plastic bag and their hands touch. 

It’s when Sam is gathering the boxes of cereal (five of which are family value size per Bucky’s super soldier appetite) that Bucky goes for it. Bucky grabs a large, robust strawberry from the little container, cuts off the green petals at the top, and rinses it off in the kitchen sink until it shines and glistens. He then sticks it about halfway in-between his teeth and turns to Sam. 

But the other man is still preoccupied with putting away the cereal boxes. So Bucky gives a loud, _“Hghnn!”_

Sam blinks and, upon turning and seeing his husband, stops completely. Bucky knows his Sam well enough to spot the beginnings of intense amusement on Sam’s face-Sam’s eyebrows nearly fly up, his eyes briefly widen, and his mouth contorts until it settles for forming in a tight, thin line. But just as quickly, Sam schools his face into a mask of deadpan impassiveness. 

Bucky still holds the strawberry in his teeth as Sam comes to pluck a strawberry out of the container and rinse it off in the sink, too. He keeps eye contact with Bucky the whole time while he eats it. 

He swallows and then says, “…I can feed myself just fine, Barnes.”

Bucky would give Sam a pout in response, but the strawberry in his teeth leaves little in the way of mouth expressions. And besides, the cool air is rushing into his mouth and making it dry. So he settles for staring at Sam with a playfully cool expectation. 

It takes all of five seconds for Sam to give in with a burst of laughter. 

“You’re such a mess! C’mere!” Sam pulls Bucky in with a wide, wide smile and warm, laughing eyes. 

Bucky giggles and his eyes alight as they wrap their arms around each other. He holds this part of the strawberry steady in his teeth as Sam slowly, tantalizingly bites down on the other side. As soon as Sam uses his tongue to get his side of the strawberry in his mouth, Bucky closes the last, itty bit of distance between their mouths. 

And the result is a gloriously wet, messy kiss overflowing with sugary sweet strawberry. They sigh and chortle into each other’s mouths as their breaths start to smell of nothing but strawberries and juice dribbles out the sides of their mouths and onto their chins. It’s yet another level of mess and laughter as they try to chase the escaping juice on each other’s faces with their tongues. 

By the time every last bit of strawberry is eaten and their mouths and chins are mostly-clean, Sam belatedly realizes that Bucky once again lifted him so he’s sitting on the counter. And Bucky is also once again in-between Sam’s legs with his arms warmly wrapped around Sam’s back. While the kissed, Sam didn’t even think when he warmly wrapped his arms in turn around Bucky’s neck. One of his hands can’t help but slide upward into the thick, silky mass of Bucky’s long hair. 

There are still perishables that need to be put up, but they want to stay right where they are for a while. 

Right where they are. 

Sam licks a lazy, lingering trail over Bucky’s lip; Bucky’s teeth gently gnaw on Sam’s luscious bottom lip. 

“Mmm…” Bucky groans. “That was _delicious_ , Wilson.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Sam softly chuckles. 

Bucky leans forward to press his forehead against his husband’s. He closes his eyes at the same time Sam does. “Uh huh. The strawberry was alright, too.” 

Sam bursts into snickers. “…You are _such_ a corny ass guy. I can’t even believe you.” 

-

Rain showers are coming soon. 

Life is picking up again, but Sam and Bucky know it-they can _feel_ it. 

They’re about to get a rain shower. 

But sometimes-just _sometimes_ -Sam’s much-beloved husband has to go and do something to nearly fuck up the upcoming rain shower and, well…

After a whole year of marriage, Sam still can’t figure out for the life of him just why in the fuck Bucky has to go and act such a damn fool. 

See, this time it starts with the fact that Sam and Bucky were blessed to be able to fly down to Atlanta to visit Sam’s family. Though they’ve embraced Bucky with open arms and open hearts, Bucky still gets tremors in his hands from the memory of asking Mrs. Darlene Wilson, Sam’s mother, for Sam’s hand in marriage. They’ve both sorely missed visiting with the Wilson family and their short, but joyous, weekend visit was just what they needed. 

And just at the end of the visit, Sam’s mother surprised them with a special homemade chocolate chip raspberry pie for them to take home. 

Special. Homemade. Chocolate. Chip. Raspberry. Pie. 

For them to take home. 

Both of them. 

They both thank her fervently and when they get home they admittedly devour much of it within the first few days. It’s not uncommon for them both to have a teeny slice as part of breakfast and then one more slice-just _one more_ -slice for an early afternoon snack. 

Soon there are just about two or three slices left. And they’re well-sized slices, too-they’re about medium and will go great with a nice, tall glass of milk or a nice, hot cup of coffee. 

As one can imagine, Sam dreams of little else but those last few slices coupled with a beverage for when he gets home after he’s been out and about and busy. He keeps dreaming of it even as he finally steps up to his house’s door, opens it…

…And sees his husband sitting there, on one of the couches, with the TV quietly on and just a single lamplight on. When Bucky looks up from the TV and smiles at Sam, his smile is far, far too bright and far, far too cheery. Sam stops just outside the living room and stands watching Bucky warily. 

“Hey, babe”, Bucky greets. “How was your therapy today?” 

Sam blinks. “…Fine. How was your mission today?” 

“Good. Pretty good. Successful.” 

“…Huh.” 

“Yep.” 

Bucky clears his throat and holds his arms out for Sam. “Say, how ‘bout you come over here so I can…greet you properly, hmm?” 

Sam raises an eyebrow and doesn’t move. 

Bucky wiggles his fingers invitingly. “C’mon, just…c’mere, Wilson. I miss you; we haven’t really seen each other all day.” 

It’s just a few more seconds before Sam finally gives in. He snuggles against his husband on the couch and in front of the TV. The next thing he knows, he’s straddling Bucky’s hips and they’re making out like the horny, sex-deprived grown ass men they are. Sam’s heart picks up speed when Bucky’s hands come up to massage and cradle his hips and ass. Their kiss deepens and their tongues are lazily rolling against each other and-

Sam stops and pulls away. He stares down at his husband…at his husband’s dewy, cherry red lips glistening from their kiss. 

Cherry red…no…

 _Raspberry_ red…

Sam speaks slowly. “…James Buchanan? Did I just taste…raspberry and chocolate on and in your mouth? Is that what I tasted?” 

Bucky’s only reply is to swallow heavily and keep his hands on Sam’s hips. 

Sam’s eyes slowly trail up from Bucky and…to the dining room. From here, he can see on the dining room table…the container of his mother’s chocolate chip raspberry pie. 

Empty. 

Completely empty. 

His eyes trail back down to Bucky, whose guilt is written all over his face. 

“You…did _that_? And then you kissed me with those lips? You fucking _kissed_ me with such criminal lips?” Sam asks in a chillingly calm voice. 

Bucky sighs quietly underneath him. “You don’t understand, Wilson. You don’t understand how hard I _tried_ -”

“But you still went and did it-”

“It was delicious. Just too goddamned delicious. I couldn’t-”

“Do you know…how much I was looking forward to that pie? Do you know what helped keep me going all day long?”

“Uhh…besides getting to come home to me? I mean-”

“Oh, most _definitely_ besides getting to come home to a man like you.” 

Bucky pouts profoundly. “‘A man like me’? What exactly kinda man am I like, huh, Wilson?” 

Sam raises an icy eyebrow. “Well, shit, it’s the kinda man that I’d be fool enough to marry, I guess. ‘M afraid that’s about as close as I can get tonight, James Buchanan Barnes.” 

“You still love me”, Bucky insists. 

Sam’s eyebrow only rises higher and he moves to slide off of Bucky. He scoots to the other end of the couch while Bucky sits up, the pout still on his face. 

Sam rubs a tired hand down his face. “…Barnes, d’you know what the hell kinda pie that was? That was the kind of pie where you could taste my mother’s love for us with every single bite.” 

“Exactly. I know. I _know_ that, Wilson. And that’s why you’re gonna have to believe me when I say that that’s why I died for you with every bite. You hear me? I _died_ for you every single time I took a bite. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.” Bucky pats his chest for emphasis. 

In response, Sam can only stare at his husband for just a little bit longer. He then rubs a tired hand down his face again. 

“…Bucky?” 

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Y’know, I…when you got down on one knee and asked for my hand in marriage, I told you ‘yes’.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Then, when you surprised me with this house as a wedding present, not only was I very, very grateful to you, but I also agreed to live with you in this house. I am still living with you. Right here, right now.” 

Bucky nods, eyes imploring. “Yep.” 

“And I just…I married you and I live with you. For a whole year. So you know you’re my bae, you’re my boo, you’re my heart. You are the love of my _life_.” 

Bucky nods again, his eyes still imploring. “Uh huh.” 

Sam clasps his hands together in a pleading gesture. “And so _because_ I love you just so, so very much? I am going to caution you against something: do not get thrown out of the window. You may be a super soldier, but it is neither fun nor safe to get thrown out the window.” 

Bucky’s criminal lips twist in an effort not to burst out laughing. Indeed, he ate the last of Mrs. Darlene Wilson’s pie and Sam was looking forward to it and so this is no laughing matter. “Oh, don’t worry, hon; I have absolutely no intentions of getting thrown out the window.” 

“Oh, but I think you do. Right now, yes, you do.” Sam sits back against the couch. “Why’re you tryin’ so hard to get thrown out of the window, hmm? What is it about getting thrown out of a window that’s so appealing to you?” 

“Well, see…it’s not so much that it’s _appealing_ , it’s just…I tend to live a life where I’m dangerously close to it.” 

Sam nods slowly. “Yeah, I can tell. I can see that. Ever tried living a little farther from it?” 

“You know, I have, but…it never completely seems to work.” 

“Well, I think you should work on making it work. ‘Cause I love you so much and I don’t wanna see you get thrown out the windows. Windows are for looking out of, not being thrown through.” 

“D’you think I’ll get just a little farther from getting thrown out the window by…morning?” 

“Now, see, that I don’t know. It just depends-you might get farther from it by, say…next week or so.” 

Bucky purses his criminal lips. “Ah, I think I can make a good case for not getting thrown out the window by next week. I think that’s enough time.” 

“Great!” Sam stands up with a sigh. “Well, Imma go take a shower-”

Bucky stands up, too. “Cool, I can start on-”

“- _all_ by my fucking self.” He points at his husband. “And while I’m getting nice and clean, _you_ are gonna keep working on not getting thrown out the window.” 

Bucky’s pout comes back full-force and then some. He sits back against the couch and crosses his arms over his chest. “Alright. Okay. I hear you. You enjoy your shower, now, hon.” 

“Oh, I will. G’night, Barnes.” 

“G’night, Wilson.” 

Well, at least Sam doesn’t make Bucky sleep on the couch that night. 

-

It takes just one week later when their rain shower comes. 

Finally, their rain shower has come. 

And it helps that in the days leading up to this week Sam got his sweet, sweet, _sweet_ revenge. Bucky tried to apologize by buying both of them a goddamn party platter-sized dish of double chocolate fudge brownies with caramel frosting and sprinkles on top. Sam managed to pretend to be gracious for all of three days. 

On the fourth day, he promptly parked his ass in their king-sized bed, opened up that lid, and ate every last remaining brownie. One. By. One. Bucky walked into the bedroom from his errands run just as Sam was devouring the very last brownie. Sam’s husband stopped in their doorway and simply stared at Sam committing such vengeful carnage in their _marriage bed_ of all places. 

Sam kept eye contact with Bucky the whole time he licked his fingers clean, too. 

“ _Oh_ , you vindictive, vengeful son of a gun”, Bucky breathed, still unable to believe what he was seeing. 

“And you felonious, backstabbing piece of 1945 ass”, Sam shoots right back as he finishes licking his last finger. 

So now they’re even and there are not many sweets in their house for the moment, lest any more bloodshed occurs. 

Now, Sam cleans and putters around the kitchen. There’s a real, true rain shower outside tonight. The rain pounds on their roof and the water streams down the street in front of their house. Every now and then, Sam peeks out of the window and sees all of those huge, fluffy clouds. Fluffy, fluffy clouds that are letting loose a downpour onto the earth. But he’s not all that worried about his husband being caught out there in the weather. 

He got the text from Bucky about ten minutes ago that he’s on the way home from his Avengers mission and it was successful. Bucky is not at all injured; he’s just a little bit tired and that can easily be solved just by getting to come home to his husband after such a long, long day. 

Sam is nursing a nice, hot cup of coffee when, sure enough, he hears the car pull into the driveway and then the front door open and close. A few seconds later and Bucky is standing in front of the kitchen, carrying his duffel bag in one hand and all but soaking wet. 

“Hey, hon.” He drops his duffel bag in a chair that they haven’t re-upholstered just yet. 

Sam smiles brightly at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “Hi, babe.” 

Bucky rolls his neck and gives the same smile right back. “So…I’m home.” 

“Oh, yeah? You’re…home?” 

“Yep.” 

“Just ‘home’? Or are you really, really…home.” 

“Really, really home, Wilson.” 

“Home-home?” Sam sets his coffee cup on the counter. 

“Yeah. Home-home.” 

They stand there just smiling at each other, both of them eager and excited for the rest of tonight. 

Sam pulls out a fresh dishtowel from one of the drawers. He softly breaks the silence. “Hey, c’mere.” 

Bucky does and Sam sets to gently toweling Bucky’s hair dry. 

“You really don’t have to do this, y’know”, Bucky softly protests, though he stays still. “I never mind a little bit of rain; you know I can’t catch a cold as easily as you can.” 

“Oh, I know you don’t, Bucky. I know”, Sam reassures him. 

Sam watches something- _that_ something-spark in Bucky’s grey-blue eyes and it sparks _that_ something in Sam’s own dark brown eyes. Sam is taking his sweet, sweet time drying the ends of Bucky’s hair and the nape of his neck when Bucky leans in closer. Bucky nuzzles softly along the underside of Sam’s jaw before laying breathy, wet kisses all along his jaw, his cheekbone, his neck. The other man’s breath shortens with each kiss and he goes just a little slower, just a little more thorough in drying off his husband. 

Bucky’s kisses move up and he gives a single lick to Sam’s earlobe before lightly nibbling it with his teeth. He whispers hotly in Sam’s ear, “Hey.” 

Sam’s eyes shutter and he somehow finds the breath to whisper back, “Hey.” 

The next thing they know, the dishtowel is dropped to the floor and they’re making out. They’re making out like they always do during a rain shower: hotly, wetly, passionately. Sam tastes and smells like coffee and clean dishes and fresh laundry and sunlight and everything that is _Sam_ and so it’s everything that is _home_. But Bucky still smells like the field-like gunpowder and chilly rain and gasoline and just a little bit of blood. He wants those scents to go away until he smells just like nothing but Sam again and so Bucky locks his arms tight and close around Sam. In turn, Sam clasps his arms firmly around Bucky’s shoulders and brings him even closer. 

Bucky soon scoops his arms up under his ass and effortlessly lifts him up onto the counter. Sam moans, low and needy, into his husband’s mouth and Bucky hungrily swallows that delicious moan into his own mouth and kisses Sam harder, deeper. In the next instance, Bucky is pushing himself between Sam’s legs, pushing, pushing, _pushing_ -

 _There._

_Yes._

Their blooming erections press and pulse against each other. Sam is halfway to being completely erect and leaking at the tip. Meanwhile, because of the serum, Bucky is already rock-hard and springing leak after leak after leak all the way through his pants. Sam can feel that escaping wetness from his husband and he grinds his hips upwards to meet it and god _dammit_ , they’ll do the laundry later and this feels so, so good. Bucky’s whole body shudders against him and grinds right back, smearing even more of that leaking pre-cum all over both their crotches. 

Blazingly hot electricity shoots up his spine and back down to his own erection at the thought of finally having every last bit of Bucky inside him tonight. Bucky inside of him…Bucky on top of him…Bucky stretching him wide, wide open until Sam forgets that he never _could_ stretch that much in the first place…

Sam’s lips fall away from Bucky’s and this time the moan he releases reaches all the way up to the ceiling and beyond. One hand tightens its grip around Bucky’s shoulders and his nails dig into the fabric of his vest, feeling the taut muscles beneath. The other buries itself in Bucky’s long wet hair and he all but yanks at it like when Bucky sucks him off to heaven and back. “Oh, _shit_ , Bucky… _Bucky_ …”

In response, Bucky re-directs his attention to devouring the hell out of Sam’s neck and jaw. His breath his hot and humid against Sam’s heated flesh and he presses kiss after kiss on the pulse fluttering wildly in his throat. His husband’s continued moans and grinding hips just fuel more and more white-hot blood to gush south for Bucky and he swears if any more of his blood shoots down to his cock, he won’t have any left to keep his head upright. 

Sam is brought a little ways out of his desire-hazed mind by the sound of his coffee cup sliding on the counter. 

“Barnes…my island…c-counter…” 

Bucky doesn’t pause in his Sam’s-neck-buffet. “…Clean it later. Promise.” 

“We _talked_ ‘bout this…dammit.” 

“I bought the _fuckin’_ Mr. Clean-”

“ _I am not fucking where I eat, Barnes!_ ” Sam growls. 

Bucky lifts his head from Sam’s neck and growls right back. “Fine, you goddamned…hold the fuck on.” 

He picks Sam up with barely a heave and Sam, delighted, immediately wraps his legs tight around Bucky’s hips. They resume their make-out session with twice as much passion and ferocity while Bucky blindly walks (well, really _stumbles_ ) them into their bedroom. 

Sam lets out a breathless laugh when Bucky drops him onto their king-sized bed with a bounce. Bucky laughs with him and then he’s on top of Sam. 

Blanketing Sam. 

Just how Sam likes it. 

They kiss slower now, softer now, sweeter now. They take a moment-just a moment-to breathe. Sam wriggles around until his legs are comfortably on either side of Bucky’s hips while his hands re-tangle themselves in Bucky’s hair. And Bucky brackets Sam’s head on one side with his right arm, while his left one dips down to slip under Sam’s shirt, gently playing along his abs. 

Sam doesn’t break his lips away from Bucky as he unzips Bucky’s vest. He tugs on the vest’s lapels and Bucky helpfully shrugs it off so that it slides to the floor and he’s left in his plain black muscle shirt. 

A blissful sigh escapes Sam as he runs a gentle, soothing hand up and down Bucky’s metal arm. He always starts at the juncture between shoulder and deltoid muscle; that’s where the worst of the tissue scarring is, where many of the nerves have died from all the damage inflicted. After Sam massages around that area, he gently runs his hand up and down the whole of Bucky’s arm. It never fails to help…break and _heal_ something in Bucky’s eyes and that’s part of why Sam does it-he never, _ever_ wants Bucky to forget that there’s not a single inch of him that’s repulsive, that’s degenerate to Sam. There never has been and there never will be. 

Bucky eventually sits back from his husband to take his shirt off. He tosses it to the floor to join his vest. Sam all but salivates at the sight of all that smooth, heavily-muscled super solider physique. His hands are bold and questing as they roam all over Bucky’s abs, his pecs, his flesh arm, his back. He watches Bucky’s erection throb and leak even more in his pants in real time as he continues to stroke and caress. 

His husband grins as he works on undoing his jeans (straining) buttons. “Yeah, you like that, donchu?” 

“Sure do. Only reason I married you.” 

“As you’ve reminded me numerous times.” 

“Yep.” Sam tugs on Bucky’s shoulders. “So bring your ass on down here and I’ll start showing you even more reasons.” 

Bucky grins wider as he abandons his jeans for the moment. “I like that idea.” 

They resume kissing and work on getting each other undressed; they want not a thread of cloth between their bodies. Sam’s shirt, both of their pants, and socks all meet the floor in quick succession. And when they pull each other’s boxers off (not with their teeth this time-they’re a bit too impatient tonight), an anticipatory shiver races through their bodies as their hot, throbbing erections spring free and hit the cool air of their bedroom. 

Bucky blankets Sam’s body again and wraps him up, warm and tight and close, in his arms for yet another kiss. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s back and his legs around Bucky’s hips in turn. He locks his ankles together around his husband’s ass like Bucky is going anywhere anytime soon. Sam shudders at the feel of Bucky’s rock hard cock, impossibly hot and heavy and still _leaking like a goddamned faucet_ on his stomach and upper thigh. Dear god, if Sam wasn’t already used to the way his husband’s body works by now, he would’ve thought that Bucky already came and then some from just how much pre-cum he could spring. 

And Sam shudders all over again when Bucky reaches in-between their bodies to take his cock in his metal hand. He first blows Sam’s mind apart by lightly tracing his fingers up and down that engorged, pulsating artery, and then circling around to briefly massage the underside before caressing his sac. Bucky does this twice more, and then repeatedly circles his metal thumb over Sam’s purpled, leaking head. 

Sam’s eyes drift closed and his head lolls back against their pillows. “I swear to god, Barnes…I swear…” 

“You ‘swear’ that ‘M a good catch? I take care of you good, don’t I?” He rolls his thumb over Sam’s purpled head again and his heart skips in his throat when Sam’s hips buck up to meet him. 

“N-no”, Sam gripes. “Never took care of me- _ngh_ -a day in our whole fucking- _ahh_ -marriage. Raspberry…bastard.”

Bucky snorts. “Well, I earned that one forever, didn’t I?” He lets go of Sam’s cock and moves down his body. 

Sam’s eyes snap open and he grasps Bucky’s shoulder to stop him. “No, wait. I…not tonight, hon.”

Bucky stops immediately and tilts his head. “Are you sure? We haven’t been able to do it in a good while.” 

“Yeah, I know and I’m sure.” He smiles and tenderly touches Bucky’s face. “It’s just…I miss you. I _have_ missed you a lot and I don’t wanna wait anymore. So come back up here; I need you.” 

“Alright, hon.” Bucky obliges and briefly kisses his husband’s nose. He leans out of the bed to pull the lube out of the nightstand drawer. They have a special lube that’s thicker than most other brands and so it stays for a good while and doesn’t slip off everywhere; it’s perfect for the times when they like to go more than twice…or thrice. 

Sam grins as Bucky hands him the jar. “Y’know…I know we talked about this, but what with how much you drip, do we really even need lube?” 

Bucky stares at him with a deadpan expression. “…You either get my dick lubed or you don’t get my dick in you at all, Wilson. Now we can blow each other all night if you prefer, but you said you _need_ me, so I assume that means that if I don’t get inside you tonight, you’re not gonna be too happy.” 

“Yeah…” Sam pretends to contemplate that as he pops the cap off and slicks his fingers up. “And that means neither one of us would be happy, huh?” 

“See? If you’re not happy, then neither one of us is happy.” Bucky sits back on his heels, his thighs slightly spread and his erection bouncing against his stomach. His own stomach and thighs are already just short of a mess with his pre-cum. “So now how ‘bout you do your worst?” 

Sam winks and gets to doing just that. He sits up, finishes coating his hand in lube, and gets to slicking Bucky up. Ever since the first time they made love, Sam’s developed a routine: he starts at Bucky’s head first. His husband’s engorged mushroom head is flushed a deep, deep purple and is completely smeared in pre-cum. So Sam begins there, at the head, where he takes his sweet, sweet time mingling and mixing the cool lube with Bucky’s hot fluids. It never fails to make Bucky’s entire body jerk and make his breath hitch right in his chest. 

When Sam finally feels that he mixed it well enough, he moves on to coating the entirety of Bucky’s swollen shaft. Bucky gives a low, drawn-out moan and leans over until his forehead is buried in Sam’s neck. He keeps one clutching and twisting at the sheets and the other shakily lifts to softly grip Sam’s taut bicep. The lube always feels borderline chilly on Bucky’s heated erection and an icy thrill shoots up his spine every single time Sam’s hand moves. It’s far from uncomfortable; it just reminds Bucky that soon he’ll be encased in tight, grasping heat- _Sam’s_ heat-and he won’t ever be able to remember what the hell cold feels like on his cock.

Sam chuckles lowly as he continues slicking the other man up. He drops a kiss in Bucky’s nearly-dry hair. “Yeah, I got you, hon. I got you.” 

He adds just another layer of cool lube to the entirety of Bucky’s cock. And just because he loves the feel of Bucky in his hands, he rubs part of the lube into the thick, coarse curls of his pubic hair and over his tightly-drawn balls. Bucky leans even more heavily onto him and he fucks himself on Sam’s hand as best he can. 

Sam soon deems Bucky slicked up enough and Bucky gently pushes Sam to lie on his back. Sam goes and pulls on Bucky’s shoulders to blanket him again. Bucky comes with him and takes a few moments to comfortably rearrange the pillows under Sam’s head and shoulders in preparation for the pounding to come later. When he’s satisfied that Sam will stay safely and comfortably cushioned, he dips his own fingers in the lube and makes for Sam’s entrance. 

A lengthy sigh born of longing and anticipation comes out of Sam as he relaxes against the pillows and spreads his legs wider for his husband. He breathes in and out, slow and easy and concentrates on keeping every single muscle in his body as loose and relaxed as possible. Bucky takes it easy by pushing in just one finger first. He waits until he can get it inside Sam all the way to the knuckle, and then very, very slowly adds a second one. By the time he has the second finger nearly in to the knuckle, he starts a gentle scissoring motion that earns him the most incredible moan from Sam and Sam’s hips gyrating up and down onto his hand. 

Bucky grins and keeps up the scissoring for just a few moments more. He soon adds a third finger and curls his fingers rhythmically against Sam’s prostate, to which Sam suddenly jerks and cries out. Sam’s ring of muscle clenches around Bucky’s fingers and the motion goes straight to Bucky’s cock. Sam lets out soft cry after soft cry and he rotates his hips downward in tighter and tighter circles as Bucky keeps pleasuring his swollen gland. 

But Sam said he needs _him_ tonight and so Bucky reluctantly slips his fingers out. He takes a moment to just take in the sight of his Sam, his husband. Sam is splayed wide and open and _trusting_ across the bed, his head and shoulders still cushioned on the pillows and his legs still on either side of Bucky. Dark and hazy with desire, Sam’s eyes gaze softly up at Bucky. His chest heaves with every short, harsh breath he takes due to nearly coming from Bucky stimulating his prostate and there’s a deep, gorgeous burgundy flush upon his dark brown skin.

Sam watches Bucky looking at him and smiles. He beckons at Bucky gently with a single finger. “C’mere, sweetheart. Get in here.” 

Bucky does just that. He puts himself in-between Sam’s legs and blankets Sam once more. His lips capture his husband’s as he uses one hand to guide his still-perfectly-lubed cock to Sam’s stretched opening. There’s just a few seconds of Sam tensing as Bucky slowly, carefully enters him and Bucky, though he’s half losing his mind from the white-hot, velvet sheathe enveloping him, does everything in his power to keep Sam comfortable. 

Sam catches his bottom lip in his teeth as Bucky pushes his head past the first ring of muscle. Bucky gently pulls that lip out with his own teeth and then lays those breathy wet kisses all along Sam’s face, neck, and shoulders. 

“Shhh”, he soothes. “Breathe. Breathe for me, honey…” 

Sam’s eyes flutter closed and he whispers, “I love you. I missed you.” 

“I love you, too. I missed you, too. More than anything.” 

One hand gently caresses the other side of Sam’s face while the other runs a soothing path up and down his torso and hip. It works: Sam is all but completely loose and languid underneath him by the time he’s halfway inside of him. 

He gives just one last push and-

“ _Oh_ , Bucky…fuck _yes_ ”, Sam groans. 

Bucky buries his face in Sam’s neck and groans back, “You are…perfect. Just…fucking _perfect_.” 

He’s fully sheathed and seated inside Sam and it’s _fucking bliss_. It’s bliss they haven’t been able to indulge in for the longest time. Fuck, maybe it’s high-time they took a fucking vacation and got their indulgence more often-their honeymoon was only three weeks, after all. 

Bucky stays perfectly still inside Sam for a few moments so Sam can adjust. A light sheen of sweat coats both of their bodies; Sam’s is from being filled and stretched so thoroughly while Bucky’s is from the strain of staying completely immobile while enveloped in Sam’s clenching heat. For the longest time, it feels that it’s just their combined musky scents and the rustle of the sheets below and the short whispers of their breaths in-between and the pounding of their hearts side-by-side. 

Sam gives the cue by gently, steadily rocking his hips on Bucky’s shaft. Bucky’s breath shorts in his chest.

And then he’s whispering in Sam’s ear and there’s that fucking _Brooklyn_ coming out and if Sam wasn’t hard enough before, he’s harder than a diamond now. 

“That’s it, baby. Just take your time”, Bucky says, that Brooklyn dripping like molasses from his tongue. “Take all the time y’need; we got all night. Yeah, just rock a little an’ breathe…remember to _breathe_ …” 

Sam’s hands grip Bucky’s hair and holds on tight as he rocks just a little harder, just a little faster. Bucky’s muscles strain as he gives just a little thrust, being sure to angle upwards so his leaking head hits Sam’s prostate. At the moment of contact, Sam’s back arches off the bed and he pushes his hips down to chase after the motion. 

_Yes._

Sam lifts his legs to wrap tightly around Bucky’s hips as Bucky thrusts into his prostate again and again and _again_. Bucky’s metal hand grasps Sam’s and holds it high above his head, right atop the soft, downy pillows while his flesh hand hooks under Sam’s thigh and hitches it higher, around his ribs. The new, sharper angle that heads straight into Sam’s prostate makes Sam give a silent scream behind his teeth and he clenches so tightly around Bucky that it takes just a bit more effort for his husband to keep thrusting. 

“Bucky”, Sam whines. “ _Harder…please…_ ” 

His husband obliges. 

That coat of sweat is heavier now on their bodies. Rivulets of it bead and roll over them like the rain shower on the roof outside, mingling in-between them as they make love. The pillows stay put as Sam’s body is pushed up and down, up and down the bed by Bucky’s pistoling hips. Sam arches and writhes against the bed and he cries out more and more with each thrust into his body. His cock bounces against his stomach, dripping and dropping pre-cum and he’s _aching_ and goddammit, he’s _missed this_. 

“Buck, Buck, Buck, _Bucky_ …” 

Both of Sam’s legs are hitched around Bucky’s ribs by now. Bucky’s hand lets go of Sam’s thigh to reach in-between their bodies and encircle Sam’s throbbing erection. At the touch, Sam gives a higher, harsher cry and his back arches clear off the bed. The hand that’s not clasping Bucky’s metal one like a lifeline is gripping the hell out of one of the pillows under his head. Bucky smiles down at him through the sweat on his face and starts thoroughly pumping his shaft. Sam’s resulting cry sounds closer to a sob and he thrusts himself harder into Bucky’s hand. 

“I…I got you, babe”, Bucky gasps with that goddamn Brooklyn dredged up from his heart. “I got you. I’m here…you’re almost…there. An’ I’m…here…got you…always…” 

“Buck, Bucky, _Bucky-!_ ” 

Every last muscle in Sam’s body seizes and everything goes white behind his eyes. His orgasm blasts through him like a solar flare and he’s helpless to do anything but feel and feel so, so fucking _good_. Sam’s breath catches in his throat mid-scream as his erection gives a final jerk and then he’s coating Bucky’s hand and his own stomach in cum. 

All it takes is for Bucky to watch his husband in the throes of his climax for him to find his own. He comes barely seconds after Sam does; he, too, seizes and catches his breath in his throat as his body spends itself inside Sam. Bucky fills Sam up past his capacity until the sheets below them are sticky with lube and cum. He’s always blown it really, really hard due to the serum, and though he’s learning not to be so self-conscious about it, Sam always laughs it off and doesn’t at all mind how soaked and dirty he gets down there. Hell, he thinks it makes a great occasion for them to always shower together afterwards. 

They collapse against each other in a hot, sweaty, tangled mess of limbs. Bucky slowly, carefully pulls out of Sam and then shifts down slightly so he can lay his head in-between Sam’s pecs. He loves to put his ear right over Sam’s heart. His eyes drift closed as he listens to it pound and pound while it regulates itself. Sam buries his hands in Bucky’s sweat-soaked hair and alternates between stroking it away from his face and lightly scratching his scalp. 

It’s several minutes of blissful, post-coital quiet between them as they drift closer and closer to sleep. 

“Hey. Hey, you. Hey, husband”, Bucky whispers. 

“Hmm?” Sam sleepily drawls. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

There is a rain shower outside.

But, once again, they’re cozied and snuggled up safe and warm with each other.


End file.
